Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 220: The Person Who Signs

The small conference room at the far end of the third floor of the Bar Association was closed.

She stood outside for a while. Something was playing inside—played once, rewound, played again. The second time through, it stopped at the six-second mark. Someone said something, but through the door she couldn't make it out.

The door opened. A recorder in her twenties came out, holding two cups of water.

"Shen Zhixia? Come in."

Three stacks of paper sat in the middle of the long table. The top stack, held with a binder clip, was the supplementary assessment materials she'd submitted on June 25. In the corner, a laptop faced outward, the screen paused on a white wall—a square clock, a white porcelain cup, the hand in the gray coat just touching the red envelope.

Three people sat behind the table. On the left, Huo Jingzhi, short hair, a blank recording sheet in front of her. On the right, a man she didn't recognize, around fifty, flipping through pages fast. In the middle, the oldest of the three, gray at the temples, a thermos by his hand. He'd barely spoken since she sat down.

"Sit." Huo Jingzhi said. "We've reviewed your materials, and we've reviewed the complaint materials. Today, only three questions."

"Go ahead."

"First. The person in that video—is it you."

"The face isn't mine."

"Second. Have you ever, in the name of a lawyer, accepted money from a client."

"No. To this day, not a single yuan has passed through my hands."

"Third." Huo Jingzhi's pen tip pressed onto the paper. "Does this video have anything to do with your internship assessment this year."

She paused.

"No."

"All three recorded." Huo Jingzhi looked up. "These three sentences are yours. What you've said—we need to find someone to back it up."

"Back it up."

"What did you bring? Take it out first." The man on the right said.

She spread the folder open and pushed four items forward one at a time: a page from the notarized extraction record, a page from the appraisal institution's acceptance and evidence-intake record, three photographs taken before the seal was cut, and that one line of technical description—audio track offset, facial-region fusion traces, repeated frames at the seam; the above is technical description, with the final formal appraisal opinion to prevail.

The man flipping pages read the acceptance record slowly. At the line "seal intact, barcode consistent, checksum consistent," he stopped.

"This is acceptance." he said. "Not a conclusion."

"Yes."

"When was it submitted."

"July 7."

"When does the conclusion come out."

"Fifteen working days. End of the month at the earliest."

He wrote a few characters on his own sheet.

"One question—don't answer too fast." Huo Jingzhi looked at her. "The complaint materials total four pages plus one video file: one page of complaint letter, three pages of screenshots. Whether the video is real or fake, who gets to speak to that—the law is clear, and it's not for us to judge. What we're examining is another matter: whether those three sentences you just said have anything else standing behind them."

"The four items I brought stand behind the video." she said. "They don't yet stand behind my three sentences."

"You heard yourself." Huo Jingzhi said.

The man in the middle unscrewed his thermos, took a sip, and spoke his first full sentence since sitting down: "We'll wait for your supplement."

[Thud. They're not judging the video. They're judging who can speak for it.]

Huo Jingzhi read the findings aloud, slower than usual:

One: This review meeting makes no conclusion; the internship assessment qualification certificate will not yet be issued, and the lawyer's practice certificate application remains deferred;

Two: Within ten days, submit a supplementary statement explaining whether the video's source and content have any relation to your professional conduct; statements in writing from others and corresponding evidence may be attached;

Three: If not supplemented by the deadline, this page will be merged into the next review meeting for combined review; the next meeting is in August.

"Ten days." She repeated the number.

"Counting from July 9, through July 18." Huo Jingzhi said. "Your three sentences—it's not that I don't believe them. But what you say doesn't count, and what I say doesn't count either. There has to be someone else's name on the paper."

"Someone else's name."

"You've interned at the firm for a full year. In that year, you've put down more than one name on paper." Huo Jingzhi set down her pen. "What matters now is who's willing to put down this one for you. The person who signs matters more than what you write. We look at the name."

The recorder tore off a page and slid it over. Just those three items, a round seal pressed at the bottom, the red impression bleeding slightly at the edges. She folded it and tucked it into the front pocket of her folder.

"May I ask one thing." she said.

"Ask."

"Who set these ten days."

Huo Jingzhi glanced at her and drew the recording sheet back toward herself. She didn't answer.

* * *

It was 4:05 when she came downstairs. The sun was still high; a row of car windows along the flowerbed threw back light.

Her phone buzzed twice in her bag. Tang Guo had forwarded a picture.

The photo was taken straight on: a glass door, a faded sign above it, bleached pale by rain. Reflected in the glass was a figure wearing a hat, brim pulled low, face unreadable. Inside the glass, on the table by the window, the vinegar bottle had been moved out of place.

A line of text followed the image: Today at three, that meeting—how did it go.

She read that line twice.

Three o'clock. She'd been in the third-floor conference room. That message had arrived before the meeting had even begun. She'd only gotten the meeting notice last night, after nine.

She called back. Tang Guo answered fast, voice low.

"This number's not from the same batch as before. I blocked those one by one. This one popped up today."

"When did the picture arrive."

"Two-fifty. I thought it was spam again."

"Where was it taken—can you tell?"

"That noodle shop downstairs from your firm." Tang Guo said. "Zhixia, he didn't snap it casually. He stood at the door, aimed at the glass, and pressed the shutter slowly."

"Don't go to the firm these next few days."

"I wasn't going to anyway." Tang Guo said. "I'm deadbolting the door."

"Deadbolting doesn't help." she said. "I'll stop by the police station later. Keep that number, that picture, the time it came in. Don't delete anything."

"I still haven't plugged the lamp in."

"Leave it unplugged."

[Thud. Last time he photographed a wall. This time, a door.]

* * *

Diagonally across from the Bar Association was a typing and copy shop. She printed the picture, the line of text, and the send time onto three sheets, trimmed them, and slid them into a document envelope.

Everything from this period was recorded in the same folder, but each different window meant carrying an extra one along—still, she went to the same window as last time.

The same officer was on duty. The enamel mug under the counter was in its usual spot, the tea stain at the bottom a shade darker than before.

"Back again." He nudged the mug inward. "What's he photographing this time."

"The door of the noodle shop below where I work." She spread the three pages out and pointed to the line of text at the bottom. "This picture came in at two-fifty today. Whoever sent it knew I had a meeting at the Bar Association this afternoon—the meeting notice only came down last night after nine."

"Where was the meeting held? Who called it?"

"The Bar Association."

"Then think it through from there." He tucked his pen behind his ear. "I'll take the picture. Give me a photocopy. Screenshots don't count."

"Already printed."

He counted the pages one by one, logged them in the register, tore off a stub and pushed it across. She folded the receipt and asked the same question as before.

"This number—can you find out who it is?"

"Dead number." he said. "Numbers that won't ring through. Numbers that won't answer. I've seen this kind of thing before. Every time you report it, I log it."

"Log it until when?"

"Until some day, when the numbers add up, and it changes its pattern." He closed the register. "First time you reported a phone call. Second time, a wall. This time, a door."

She didn't respond.

"At this rate, next time it'll be inside the house." He looked at her. "I'm not trying to scare you. I'm telling you plainly: this window can only log things for you. It can't stop anyone. How many people in your household?"

"My younger brother, he's in high school. And a friend staying temporarily."

"Make it clear to them—cars they don't recognize, people they don't recognize, if someone knocks, don't open the door. Call first." He capped his pen. "I'll file it."

* * *

Home by 7:40. Zhi'an was doing exam papers in his room, pen scratching across the page. Tang Guo sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table, phone lying face down.

"All three pages filed." She laid the case receipt on the coffee table. "One receipt."

"So can he find out who it is?"

"Can't."

Tang Guo flipped her phone over. The screen showed the noodle shop door. She stared at it for a few seconds, then turned it back down.

"I'll draw the curtains tomorrow."

"The curtains are already drawn." Shen Zhixia said. "Don't scare yourself."

Zhi'an came out for water, set his cup on the corner of the table.

"Jie, that noodle shop door below your building—I passed it after school yesterday, and there was someone standing there smoking."

"What did he look like?"

"Couldn't see clearly. Just one person." He drank some water. "That certificate—what if they just won't give it to you?"

"Then I'll keep handling cases."

"How do you take cases without a certificate?"

"Before I had a certificate, I took my first case." she said. "Remember: these next few days, don't get into cars you don't recognize, don't open the door for strangers."

"Got it." He carried his cup back into his room and closed the door.

At nine, He Xiufen called.

"The meeting's over."

"It's over." She recited the three items line by line. When she reached "within ten days," paper rustled on the other end.

"The appraisal opinion will come at the end of the month at the earliest." He Xiufen said. "He's given you ten days. In those ten days, all you have is one acceptance record."

"Can I just write a statement myself?"

"The one you wrote was already submitted on the fifth." He Xiufen said. "What they want this time isn't written by you. It's written by someone else, for you."

"Then who writes it?"

"I've thought about it for you." He Xiufen said. "If the firm signs, they'll say it's family vouching for family. If Tang Guo signs, they'll say she's a client. Peng Weidong, Ma Jianjun—all clients. Out of all the cases you've handled this year, how many people are left who have no stake with you?"

"What does the person who signs have to know?"

"Two things: what cases you've handled, and whether you ever reached out your hand." He Xiufen said. "So he has to have gone over cases with you, and sat across from you."

She held the phone, silent.

"If you can't answer, I'll say it for you." Paper rustled again. "From the thirty-six thousand four hundred at Chengnan Station No. 1, to that bed at Chengbei Hospital, to that swapped lock on Minsheng Road—how many people have sat in the chair across from you, and whose name was on the paperwork? You know better than I do."

"Director He."

"I'm not going to make this call for you this time." He Xiufen said. "Think clearly about two things yourself: when that hand touches the paper, it amounts to saying the complaint letter on the Bar Association's table isn't true. First ask if he dares; then ask—if he does sign, will the Bar Association believe it."

[Thud. That checklist item still needs one person to sign.]

* * *

Past eleven, her phone lit up twice on the coffee table.

—First let them see that the face is fake, then talk about character.

—The person who can sign this is still at Hengzheng.

She stared at that last half-sentence. Three people had mentioned names to her today: Huo Jingzhi said names only count when they're on paper; He Xiufen said figure out for yourself where that paper came from; and this message said the person was still at Hengzheng.

She replied with one word: Who.

No answer came.

She opened the last page of her folder and wrote in today's entry: July 8, review meeting, ten-day deadline to submit a statement bearing someone else's name; four items presented on the spot; additionally, one photograph of the noodle shop glass door, arrived at 2:50.

When she finished, the pen lay at the end of the line. In the past year, several people had sat in the chair across from her, all with the same name on the paperwork. That unsigned complaint letter—no one had written down which building it came from.

The hand she was waiting for was still at Hengzheng.